


Save The Last Dance

by cookinguptales



Category: The Muppet Show
Genre: M/M, Terrible Jokes, at the dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookinguptales/pseuds/cookinguptales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beaker's puns may be a little too esoteric for At The Dance, but they're just fine in the lab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save The Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been filling Bunsen/Beaker ficlets prompts on tumblr for a while now, and while I was redoing my tags I realized that a few of them are probably long enough to be put on AO3.
> 
> This one was written for the prompt "last dance", and the title was inspired by The Drifters' "Save The Last Dance for Me".

Honestly, Beaker owed Kermit an awful lot. His life with the Muppets had had a rocky start, but that wild and weird and lovely little company had become the family he hadn’t even known he was looking for, and he’d only found them because Kermit had given him a chance. And really, Kermit had never asked that much in return, so on the rare occasion that Kermit asked him for a favor, Beaker almost always agreed.

Beaker tried not to squint at the face of the woman whose hand was currently clamped onto his shoulder. Filling in for a stray dancer during At The Dance was probably the least terrifying job he’d ever had at The Muppet Show, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. He didn’t have a lot of experience waltzing, and he kept glancing down at his feet, half-petrified with the fear that he’d mangle his dance partner’s. And for the _life_ of him, he couldn’t seem to remember this woman’s name!

“So Beaker,” she asked, coyly glancing over his shoulder towards the audience, “Did you hear about the two criminals who raided the calendar store?”

“No.” He internally counted 1-2-3-4-1, and on 2, he asked, “What happened?”

“They each got six months!”

“Oh,” he said, twirling them around. “Well, do you know why it’s great to go shopping with a neutron?”

She looked at him blankly.

“Because there’s never any charge!”

Her grip tightened incrementally. “Uh…”

But she was saved by the bell, or rather the belle of the ball. He’d never seen a woman look so relieved to be cut in on.

* * *

Beaker stumbled into Muppet Labs a half hour later, tie loosened and feet all danced out.

Bunsen looked up from his calculations at the clatter. “Oh, Beaker! Is Mr. Kermit finished with you already?” he asked.

“Yes…”

Bunsen put his dry erase marker down. “Is something wrong, Beaky?”

Beaker poured himself into his desk chair. “It didn’t exactly go that well,” he admitted.

“What?” And then Bunsen was right beside him in a way that Beaker would never admit made him jump. “But you’re such a lovely dancer, Beaker.”

Beaker summoned up a tired grin, small and self-deprecating. “I stepped on three women’s feet,” he said, “And none of them got my jokes.”

It was really up for debate whether it had been the subject matter or the delivery. Either way, Beaker had nearly disappeared inside his pressed collar by the end of the segment, and it was only that self-consciousness that prevented the audience from seeing his blush. Small blessings.

Bunsen frowned at him, and it was the irked, distracted frown that he only seemed to get when a particularly annoying puzzle was niggling at him. “Perhaps you just didn’t have the right partner.”

Beaker felt his lips twist. “Maybe.”

“What do you say we fix that?” Bunsen asked, and his face was already smoothing out again.

That was the expression of a scientist who thought he had a new solution to a problem, and Beaker shrank back in his seat. That look had never boded well for him, not on Dr. Bunsen Honeydew’s face. “What do you mean?”

Bunsen leaned in until he was all Beaker could see, and Beaker squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t until he felt Bunsen’s hands on his, warm and gentle and stroking the back of his knuckles just so, that he opened them again.

Bunsen smiled at him with a sweetness that Beaker was quite sure he did not actually possess. “Do you have one last dance left in you, my dear?”

“I–I guess?” Beaker said, but before he could ask what the catch was, Bunsen was pulling him up out of his chair and out to a clearing in the middle of their lab.

(And _last he’d checked,_ there’d been an invention sitting there. He wasn’t going to ask. He just wasn’t.)

“Come on now, Beaky, I know you know how to dance,” Bunsen cajoled.

Beaker huffed a little, but he still took a step closer to Bunsen, and sighed in relief when Bunsen immediately placed a hand on his shoulder. At least he wasn’t going to have to struggle through the Follow role while a solid foot taller than his partner.

He placed his own hand at Bunsen’s waist, and he felt a sort of shyness he hadn’t felt in a long time. This close, he could hear Bunsen’s steady breaths and feel the warmth emanating from beneath business casual. It made him feel unsteady and awkward, like his legs weren’t quite the same length and his clothes were a size too small.

But Bunsen went right ahead as if Beaker were strong and ready in his arms. “Computer, could you please play us a nice waltz? Better than the elevator music they play on stage,” he added.

Immediately, a song started playing, and Beaker wasn’t even sure when Bunsen had programmed their computer to do that. But Bunsen was moving, and so was he, apparently. He stepped in time to the music, feeling drawn along even though he was quite sure that he was supposed to be leading. Bunsen always seemed to have that effect on him, though, dragging him along on madcap adventure after adventure with the power of simple charisma.

The worst part, Beaker reflected as Bunsen laid his head against his chest with a little sigh, was that he thought he liked it. He stepped in closer, let himself hold Bunsen a little tighter. Then he dipped his head a little so he could speak, not to any microphone or audience member, but right in Bunsen’s ear. “Did you hear that oxygen went on a date with potassium?”

He could feel Bunsen’s lips turn up against his skin. “No, I didn’t.”

He leaned impossibly closer, until he wasn’t even sure if his lips were brushing against Bunsen’s ear or if it was just, as always, his imagination. “It went OK.”

He felt rather than heard Bunsen snicker, and he felt his own lips go up in an answering grin, silly enough that he was glad Bunsen couldn’t see.

“And ours?”

And just like that, Beaker stumbled. “Our what?”

“Our date, of course,” Bunsen answered, pulling back to give Beaker a sunny smile. “In your expert opinion, how do you think we’ll be?”

The word was out of his mouth before he could hold it back. “Unstable.”

Bunsen just grinned wider. “Splendid!” he said, and then shifted his fingers just slightly, so instead of gripping Beaker’s shoulder, they were creeping up to dip under his collar. He leaned up so he could press his lips against Beaker’s, quick and mischievous and perfectly on beat. Damn him. “I can’t wait.”


End file.
